


Passion Over Ice

by Stitched_Inside (relativelyunknown)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camp Nanowrimo, Drama, Gen, Ice Skating, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Romance, Winter Olympics, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relativelyunknown/pseuds/Stitched_Inside
Summary: Completed Work 55k words. 2018 Camp NaNoWriMo Project, will be posting a chapter a week as I edit and revise.Being strong, accomplished competitors in the world of figure skating, Heero and Trowa break barriers and perform the first same-sex pair skating programs at various international venues in an attempt to change the discriminatory climate of the sport. Romance ensues.





	Passion Over Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my Camp NaNoWriMo cabin mates for your support and encouragement, especially my motivator Sophie3Marie who convinced me that, even if this is absolute trash, it should be put out there for the world to see. 
> 
> International figure skating has come a long way in the past ten years, but it still suffers from lack of diversity. While same-sex orientation is no longer a highly guarded secret for some athletes, they still endure prejudice and ridicule within their respective skate clubs and organizations. This work of fiction explores the idea of true equality, on and off of the ice, as well as illustrates this writer's hope that one day athletes will be able to choose whoever they wish to perform with in pairs skating, regardless of gender or orientation.

 

**PASSION OVER ICE**

_Camp Nanowrimo 2018 - Complete_

_  
_

“Are you feeling confident about your upcoming performance?” A spritely woman in a thin, silky lilac-colored a-line dress asked from the cluster of reporters situated just outside of the interview box. Heero couldn’t help but stare at her and her unusually summertime attire.

 _She must be freezing_ , he thought. The inside of the ice skate arena couldn’t have been more than 50 degrees. The rest of the media representatives were all appropriately bundled up in thick sweaters or winter jackets sporting their company logos on lanyards or warm woolly, knitted caps.

“This is the first time for both of you skating as a pair in a competition, is that right?” The woman held up her miniature microphone, eyebrows raised, eager for his response.

Heero felt Trowa's shoulder brush against his own as he shifted uncomfortably beside him on the narrow bench, crossing his legs tightly one over the other, one of his shielded skates brushing against his calf. They were told to sit close so they could fit neatly together inside of the camera’s tight shot. He wasn’t sure why he felt so weird about his performance partner being so close to him. They'd trained together nonstop for the last four months, putting in long, grueling hours on their pair free skate routine.

His discomfort was misplaced. Some of their moves required them to be even _closer_ than they were now, with arms intertwined, hips parallel, and bodies firmly pressed together. Skating with a partner was just like intimate dancing, only with an undeniable factor of danger added in.

“Yes,” Heero finally answered for them both, knowing that his companion wasn’t big on talking to reporters.

The shoulder against his own dropped slightly and he could hear the sound of Trowa’s sigh as he relaxed, realizing that he was off the hook when it came to this required Q+A.

“This is a first for us both. We’ve been working hard on this routine, and we feel confident that we’re well enough prepared and up for the challenge,” Heero added.

“How do you feel about being the first same-sex pair performers to be on the docket here at the international level? Are you worried it will affect the way the judges score you,” the woman in the dress blurted, cutting off thw man beside her who had opened his mouth to speak.

“We’re not worried,” Heero replied casually, “we knew this would be a controversial choice. There are many (LGBTQIA+) skaters in this sport, and yet they are not free to express themselves openly for fear of persecution. Our respective countries sought to address this problem by breaking that tradition. We hope that after today more performers will feel be able to choose who they will skate with based on skill, art and chemistry on the ice regardless of gender.”

As the reporters scribbled down notes and fumbled with their tape recorders Heero crossed his arms over his chest and glanced over to his right where their coaches and managers nodded approvingly at his answer.

Sadly it was the truth. Ever since the establishment of ice skating as a sport same-sex pairs for couples weren't allowed to compete. It had been tried on the amateur level and allowed in specialized showcases in Europe but never in higher levels of competition.

A few other high level skaters had openly complained about the discriminatory practices against them by judges whenever they ‘came out’ to the public while actively representing the sport. It was Jean Pruyez, the French team’s major sponsor, who had spoken out about it the most, and who’d proposed that the major skating organizations push for more open inclusion.

Unfortunately most people were still uncomfortable with the idea of change. The old traditions still stood, and anyone who suggested major changes were immediately discounted and made to be black sheep of the community. As a result many of those who tried to force change had been pressured into early retirement.

So when Heero and his manager were approached by Pruyez about breaking the tradition it was understandable that they were hesitant to stir the pot. Heero had already established a successful career as an international singles skater and had no experience skating with another person. However, Pruyez convinced them that Heero his first choice; he was already an established competitor, a strong performer, and if the judges didn’t like his choice to skate with another man they wouldn’t be able to _punish_ him and ruin his career as they had with other upcoming unknowns.

He was a safe bet. Pruyez’s prodigy, the French’s olympic team gold medalist, Trowa Barton, was quite possibly one of the best skaters in the world. How could anyone in the sport cross him?

Together they made the perfect, balanced, untouchable team.

That was how Heero had ended up seated beside another man, minutes away from performing the world’s first international level, same-sex skate dance routine. They were doing it to break the mold, influence change to hopefully pave the way for others in the sport to do the same.

“Is it true that you’re a couple off of the ice as well?” A man in the back row yelled over the din.

“We’re just good friends,” Heero said quickly, feeling Trowa’s shoulder tense against his, “and nothing more.”

Their friendship could easily be confused with something more intimate. Out on the ice they played the role of a couple. The song chosen for their skate dance, “Feel Good Song”, by Vardaan Arora, which was considered by some to be an unofficial LGBTQIA+ anthem, but more importantly the beat and tone of the music itself was emotionally driven and sensual, lending well to the overall message of the routine itself.

Duo Maxwell, their choreographer, had wanted to tell a story about two people who find each other in passing, one somber while the other was more open, explosive in gestures and feeling, pulling confidence and happiness out of the other person. By the end of the routine they were supposed to be bonded, moving with the same energy, as one.

The routine itself was a closely mirrored how things had actually unfolded between the two of them over the last few months.

Even though Heero felt confident about the reasons for skating as a pair he wasn’t entirely confident about being able to do it. He was a hard ass, and he didn’t know if he could ever be satisfied with the other skater’s abilities or performance. He'd come out onto the ice for the first time with a chip on his shoulders, a dark cloud hanging over his head about the entire arrangement.

He'd known Trowa from the competition circuit. He’d seen him in passing, shook his hand to congratulate him for his wins more times than he could count. He had watched him seduce a crowd with innovative routines and raw, emotional performances. He was incredibly talented at technical work, but he was much more elegant on the ice than Heero, more expressive, which was ironic considering how impassive he was at times like these, staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with the reporters and under the watchful eyes of his fans.

Trowa'd come out onto the ice for their first practice with a small, confident smile, and fell into the routine as if he had skated it a thousand times over, having no trouble doing as Duo instructed, acting out the part of the clever, outgoing, alluring lover that he was supposed to play.

Heero had found skating with another person distracting, awkward. He wasn’t acting at the time. His ‘character’ was supposed to be shy, uncomfortable, cold. It was easy enough to portray without any acting involved.

Getting acquainted on the ice had been awkward and it wasn’t until after their first six hour session that they actually sat down to talk. Luckily they both spoke English well, though Heero was surprised that Trowa knew a little conversational Japanese, apparently having trained in Yuzawa for a summer as a kid at the same studio Heero had. They learned that they had only missed being in each other’s intermediate level class by a matter of weeks. He had expressed his love for Japan, but had been sad that he hadn’t visited since that time as a kid. Heero had promised to show him around someday.

Their training had been at the USO Patinage Artistique in Orléans, France, which was not too far from Trowa’s hometown in Olivet, Loiret. One afternoon Trowa had insisted that Heero come to his home to visit his mother, his sister and his fianceé, Armand.

It had been an interesting visit. By then, Heero had been skating with Trowa for a little over a month, having easily become accustomed to the other young man’s habits, his quirks, his subtle and intricate personal details. Meeting Trowa’s mother felt as if he were being initiated into the family, as if he were being introduced to his _boyfriend’s_ parent rather than his skating partner. Clearly Trowa’s mother was important to him, and he was proud to have her meet the other half of his upcoming historical routine, but Heero couldn’t help but feel awkward in front of them. Trowa’s sister had been warm, open, and friendly. Out of the three she was the easiest to talk to. Armand had come off friendly enough, but his kind words didn’t match his body language. Heero had spent a month reading someone else’s body language and nonverbal cues for the purpose of anticipation- being able to counter Trowa’s actions with precision. This new skill had made it easier for Heero to read other people; their thoughts, feelings and intentions.

Armand didn’t like him. It was clear he had caught on to how close Heero and Trowa had become. At dinner Trowa had finished Heero’s sentences twice, had chuckled at one of his jokes, and was poking fun at him in a casual, nonchalant way. By no means were Trowa’s actions towards him professional, and it was clear that his fiancee was noticing, but nothing happened. Especially after meeting Trowa’s beau, Heero had made a point of keeping his own flirtatious comments to himself.

That hadn’t stopped the inevitable, almost palpable tension that had grown between them. Heero was coming to know Trowa better than he had known anyone else, even himself.

It was only natural that he came to know Trowa inside and out. They’d spent hours together, clutching onto one another, rocking to the music as a single unit on the ice. Before practice they often had breakfast together with their coaches, their doctors, Duo and others and after practice would do much of the same, dine with one another, hang out until all hours of the night talking about their favorite TV shows, watching recordings of their competitor’s performances, murmuring their fears and concerns into the darkness as they sat on the bleachers by the closed ice rink after hours, watching the ice resurfacer grind and smooth the scarred ice over so that it was glossy, shining and reflective.

They’d become inseparable. The connection was important, encouraged by everyone around them. The more they knew one another and the more comfortable they were with each other, the more natural and organic their performance would be.

During their months of practice they stayed at a nearby house where many famous athletes had once come to live in while they trained. It was a small, quaint cottage-style building with five tiny bedrooms. Each room had an exposed, dry overhead wooden beam where previous athletes had scraped their marks into the time-worn surface with the blades of their skates. Before Heero left he dug out his own name in katakana with a pair of practice skates on the far right side of the beam, alongside the tight, curly scribe of Sonja Henie, and then rubbed his finger along Philippe Candeloro’s bold name for good luck.

Now he was back in Tokyo, about to put on display all of his and Trowa’s hard work for all the world to see. The first same-sex ice dance to hit the figure skating world at the professional level. He had done this routine so many times he’d lost count, and never once had an ounce of the apprehension he was feeling now. What if they mess it up? What if the song or routine offends people, doesn’t portray the emotion and the point they had intended? What if they failed, and the judges use them to set an example? Would it end his career? What about Trowa’s?

There was a lot more riding on this than any of his other performances, along with the weight of responsibility to a community that _needed_ this breakthrough, that _needed_ representation. They weren’t doing this for themselves, they were doing it for them.

Heero snapped out of his thoughts just in time to see Trowa’s manager wrapping up his speech to the press. In the distance he could hear the roar of the crowd as the performance on the ice ended, and then the crackle of the loudspeaker as it announced the next pair. It was almost their turn to go.

“Thank you, and wish us luck,” Duo said with a wave, gesturing for Heero and Trowa to follow him. Heero wasn’t surprised that Trowa jumped up quickly and left the spotlights, hurrying into the shadows and down the corridor that led to the rink, followed by his personal trainer and manager. He could tell in the way he had squared his shoulders and was carrying himself heavily on his skates down the rubber mats that he was stressed, probably thinking the same thing he was.

_We can’t fuck this up._

He got up and followed him, stopping in a shallow dugout beside the rink. The lights were low, strobes and spotlights following the pair that were dancing just beyond the short divider wall. Heero sidled up beside Trowa, who was looking away from their competition, not wanting to see how good or bad they were doing, obviously trying to get his mind calm, his head in the right space for their own performance.  
  
“Just remember, breathe, smile, look like you like each other,” Duo said with a grin, patting them both on the shoulders before trudging off to find a seat in the stands.

 _Like each other,_ Heero thought with a sigh. _That won't be difficult._

The truth was, he _really_ _did_ like Trowa. There was a little bit of irony about that, the fact that he had walked into this situation thinking that this could never work and that he could never skate with someone else, only to be walking out of it thinking the opposite. How could he _ever_ skate with anyone else? How could he _ever_ skate _alone_ again? The thought made his stomach tie into knots. What had started out as an act, as a portrayal of what gay love _should_ be, had simply become true for him. He knew it was stupid, that he couldn’t possibly claim to love someone after only knowing them for a few months, but he had no other word to describe how he was feeling.

He didn’t want this to end, either, but that was the sad truth of their situation. Once they did this, once they completed this performance, they were done with this task. They would have broken the rules, had made their point. They would be expected to go their separate ways.

It was a heavy thought, one that was slowly killing his spirit. He had tried not to think about it but now here it was, the awful truth, staring him in the face. Challenging him to _do_ something about it, b ut what could he do? Trowa was skating for another team, he practically lived on the opposite side of the world, and he was engaged to someone else. Trowa _wasn’t_ his, no matter how close they’d become. No matter how much Heero wished he could be.

There was nothing he could do to change the truth, to make things any different. All he could do now was face the future, go out there and make this last performance with his friend the best he could. He was determined to make Trowa feel proud of this, but also to let him feel just how much he appreciated him, and all the late-night talks, connections, and smiles he’d had given him over the past four months.

The performance on the ice ended, finalized by a round of polite applause from the audience. Overhead was a giant projection screen with the eight judges seated at a white table, looking down at their score sheets, tabulating, finalizing. Heero avoided looking up, he didn’t care what the other pair had done. Trowa was looking down at his skates, his face occluded by his trademark silky auburn bangs. It was then that Heero felt cool fingers slide against his own, tracing his palm before retreating as quickly as they had come.  
  
Even though they were crowded against the wall, surrounded by their team, he had no doubt who they’d belonged to. He had felt those chilled, slender hands before, many times. They were Trowa’s. He knew exactly what the touch had meant.

_I trust you. Let’s do this._

Heero smirked, feeling a sudden sense of confidence swell within his chest. Trowa was ready. So was he. As the other pair vacated the ice he rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, glanced at his partner and touched his shoulder softly before making his way out from their protective circle of handlers towards the ice alone.

As soon as his blade came in contact with the freshly paved ice the crowd exploded into chaos. The audience, which typically was filled with flags of various competitor nations was now a sea of color; Pride flags, symbols, indicators flying in the air for those who stood to gain so much from this simple dance.

The opening of their performance wasn’t typical. Many pairs began their act together, draped in one another’s arms as the music started. Duo had different ideas. Heero would start out alone, do a few moves and then would be joined by Trowa who would enter from the sidelines. It was intended to start the act in a certain move, then transform once the music shifted. Trowa would bring with him a different kind of energy.

The lights fell and the ice beneath Heero’s skates seemed to glow an eerie, dark grey, the effect shifting like clouds, haze, negative energy. The music began simultaneously, low gradually increasing electronica music.

One, two, three, four- beats in and he kicked off, sliding forward, turning a few times, making a lazy half circle along the far end of the rink, passing by the judges, performing a flawless series of crossovers, foot spins, his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. Duo had wanted him to look as if he was just passing through the darkness, unaffected by the world around him —somber.

That wasn’t hard to do. Not after all of the heavy thoughts he had been feeling just before coming onto the ice.  
  
Being moody had always followed him in the world of performing. He wasn’t one to fake a smile, even in a performance, which left him with few options when it came to the artistic rendering of his routines. He tended to do intense-style acts, ones that require a focused face, often accompanied by dark themes. Dark energy. It was how he got around not smiling for the audience.  
  
What he was doing now was very technical, his movements precise, crisp, seemingly effortless. He slid across the center of the ice, spun around, picked up speed moving backwards and launched himself up with his toe, performing an effortless triple axle, landing backwards, blade flat, arms out at perfect 90 degree angles, leg stiff and knee locked, upright as if he had simply hopped off of a curb and onto a street.

Triple axles were nothing to him. He had perfected a triple by the time he was eleven. Many of the performers there had. It didn’t matter, the fact he had jumped was thrilling enough for the people in the audience- many of which had never seen a performance like this live before. The nature of this performance had brought a fresh wave of spectators, people who just by their presence were infusing the sport with a new excitement. Heero doubted they even knew _what_ he had just done, only that he hadn’t fallen from it.

He was nearly a minute into the song. The lights around him were changing, the mood lifting slightly, preparing for the music to drop it’s beat and change pace. He situated himself near the center of the ice and turned, dropped and toed himself into a rapid spin, starting with his arms outstretched, gradually pulling them in, tucking close to his body as he became a blur. With the movement the music quickened and he heard the roar of the audience. Still spinning, he didn’t _have_ to look to know what they were reacting to.

Trowa had entered the ice. He would be skating right at him, doing a few flashy moves to fill the space as he crossed the ice.

Heero’s mind was counting the beats. Three, two, one-

Then he felt the cold hand that had softly caressed his only minutes before grab his hand, pulling him out of the spin, taking him forward at a rapid pace. Trowa had fished him from his move and was skating backwards, now gliding on one leg, his pose extended, elegant as a ballet dancer.

Heero had to orient himself on something to get his head out of his interrupted spin. He locked onto Trowa’s face, their eyes meeting, speaking silently to one another. He could hear Trowa’s voice in his head.

_You’re ready, right?_

How many times had he said that in practice? Jokingly, teasing him as Heero tried to get the dizziness out of his head. ‘Of course,’ he used to say, early on in their practicing feeling offended that the French skater thought he couldn’t handle himself.

There was no speaking here. There was no need.

Heero’s serious face softened and he smiled. Trowa took that as it was intended, ‘okay. I’m ready’.

It was a good thing they had listened to the song to which they were supposed to perform at least a million times, because now it was practically impossible to hear it at all over the deafening madness that was spilling out from the audience. Trowa had always been a fan favorite, his striking and unique good looks and almost supernatural ability to jump making him stand out above all others. It was clear that his fanpeople were present, his name was being chanted from the rafters.

Heero followed Trowa’s lead, pumped his legs, made a few paces and let his partner pull him forward until they were side by side, pace matching for a moment before breaking apart. They would do this a few times, reaching for one another, sliding an arm around a shoulder, hooking around a waist, then breaking again, changing direction, moving to opposite ends of the rink.

The performance itself was supposed to mirror the hardship many same-sex or alternative relationships faced. Apprehension, keeping things hidden, secret. Heero’s persona was supposed to have felt alone, but then encounters Trowa’s, who brings significant light and energy with him, fueling Heero’s confidence, boosting his morale. Trowa was physically performing these feats, pushing Heero forward, slinging him away, only to pull him closer. Heero’s persona was supposed to seem as if he was reaching out, hesitant at first, but then eventually becoming insistent. Passionate. _Wanting_ to express himself, not caring what other people thought, not trying to hide himself.

Between various tricks, moves and complicated jumps they navigated their routine, complex maneuvers performed with the ease of muscle memory, without a conscious thought.

Heero’s thoughts were nowhere on technique. He broke away from Trowa to perform a quadruple axle, his only other jump for the routine, then let himself speed up backwards, flipped forward and dashed to the opposite side of the rink where Trowa was lining himself up, edging, preparing to do three quadruple salchow’s in a row. It was the most daring, complicated maneuver they had in their act.

Trowa had fallen a hundred times on the third set during practice. By the third one he was tired, his momentum slowed. It was only natural that if he were to make a single mistake in this performance it would be there.

Despite everything that went against it, Heero just knew he would make it. If anyone could do it, it would be Trowa. He glided forward and waited, watched as Trowa’s body turned, his arms taking position, looking over his shoulder with a surprising air of confidence. In that position Heero found him to be absolutely stunning, his torso twisted as he looked in the direction he was going, legs widely stanced. His black slacks and the sheer jeweled black top accented all of his partner’s most desirable features. Trowa had gorgeous legs, yes, but he also had arms that could be both supple yet carved, muscular, simultaneously. He moved with the power of a swimmer, sleek and aerodynamic, and yet had the undeniable grace and poise of a dancer. He truly was the epitome of perfection when it came to skating, the absolutely the ideal athlete for the sport.

Trowa took off from the ice as if he had springs in his legs, his knees barely flexing as he launched, landed the first quad with his arms outstretched, seeming to pose for a moment before moving off again, another perfectly executed jump. A pause, his blades scraping the ice, pushing him into the air, making him nothing more than a glistening, black blur as he twirled through the air. Heero caught his breath as Trowa’s first skate struck the ground, waiting for him to turn, to steel his balance— he did.

He skated out of the triple quads as if it were nothing.

At this point in the routine most of their hard ‘tricks’ were done, and they were supposed to woo the audience with the remainder of the dance. Heero’s persona was intended by this point to be happy, madly in love with Trowa’s, smiling at him.

It didn’t take any acting on Heero’s part. He couldn’t help but smile, happy that Trowa had accomplished his most complicated feat of the night, satisfied with the reaction of the audience who were screaming as if they were at a rock concert and not at a posh, upscale ice rink watching figure skating.

Heero glided up beside him, rested a hand on Trowa’s lower back and joined him in a series of weaves and crossovers, both pacing one another as they crossed the center of the rink, not looking forward but rather at one another. Heero could see Trowa’s shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath from his jumps, and could see the excitement in his eyes. They had gone into the act telling themselves they weren’t going to care about points, that score wasn’t what this was about, but they couldn’t help but feel happy about what would surely be a grade in their favor.

“Show off,” Heero mouthed, knowing there was no point in speaking the words, his partner wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway. Trowa winked at him in response, then leaned into him playfully, sliding his hand up Heero’s arm until they were holding hands. Heero twisted around and began skating backwards in front of him, their pace and movements now locked together, evenly matched.

This was the part that Duo had drilled them on for countless hours. The choreographer had insisted that they not do moves that were traditionally ‘male’ or ‘female’. In pairs, one skater tended to be the powerful one, while the other got flung around, tossed in the air, forced to move at the will of the other partner. The ‘weak’ one — the woman skater in most cases, and the ‘strong’ one — the man. Duo didn’t want them to come off too macho either, no poses, no posturing or overtly masculine moves. He had told them to be supple, to move together as one unit and to take the neutral maneuvers with as casual of an air as they possibly could.

“Look like you’re at the club, just hanging out, no ballerina poses,” Duo had ranted time and time again, often chastising Trowa for looking ‘too perfect’. He was never loose enough. Always too angular, too textbook.

Heero tried to imagine himself somewhere on a dance floor, Trowa in his arms, smiling at him, just hanging out and enjoying the music, being in one another’s company. No work, no stress, no obligation.

Trowa was straightening his arm, each push off of his skate even and perfect. Heero tried being the opposite, uneven gait, pulling Trowa closer to him as he skated backwards, negating the typical three-foot gap the ‘rules’ dictated was proper form.

Fuck form. He could hear the music playing in his mind, he followed it, leading Trowa along with him. His partner seemed to have picked up on the change in him, the shift in his actions. He smiled and followed him, countering his movements easily, but being loose about it, his arms moving casually, not raised and held aloft stiffly as they typically would have been.

They changed positions multiple times, Heero pulling Trowa, touching him, then Trowa doing the same. There wasn’t a ‘leader’ in this, there weren’t roles. It was just _them_ on the ice, genuinely enjoying each other’s company, performing the final parts of their act side by side.

Finally the program was counting down, nearing the end. Heero positioned himself in front of Trowa and waited until his partner performed a mind-bogglingly fast spin, transforming it multiple times, standing on one leg, dropping down to practically sit parallel with the ice, holding his other skate, then rising slowly, pulling his leg up over his head with effortless grace. There was noone as flexible on the ice as Trowa, and this move was meant to showcase it. His partner broke out of the move with an elegant bend of his body, then wove towards him backwards.

  
Heero was supposed to catch Trowa by the arm, spin with him, widen the spin then pull him close by the hand. The routine was supposed to end with them standing hand in hand, facing each other, symbolizing Heero’s persona accepting himself and claiming Trowa’s, signifying their love. A bond.

Heero had never liked that ending, but never dared to deviate from Duo’s choreography before now.

This was the last time they were going to skate this routine. It was the last time he was going to skate with Trowa. Fuck it, he was going to do what he wanted. He wanted it to end _right._

He reached out to catch Trowa, but rather than by the arm, he caught him by his face, cupping his hand against the other skater’s cheek. Trowa was staring at him for a split second, stunned.

There was no time to explain. Heero simply smiled at him, used his other hand to grasp Trowa’s and carefully led him in the right direction, still touching his face, guiding him the direction he wanted. To his surprise Trowa closed his eyes, sighing, his breath warming his wrist and leaned into his hand as if he enjoyed his touch.

That was as much permission as Heero needed. Trowa had given up all control, and was relinquishing the end of the routine to him.

The audience couldn’t see the fact that Trowa had closed his eyes. They had no idea what the end of this ice dance was supposed to be like. Duo must have been beside himself, a single irate face lost somewhere in the sea of smiled. It all faded away, all worry of getting in trouble, of whether or not they were going to get points off for not finishing the act with a prim and proper upright, camel spin.

This was the last time Heero would be allowed to touch him. The last time they would be this close. He guided Trowa towards him, put one of his skates between his partner’s and locked their bodies together, moving as one, Heero gliding backward, pulling Trowa along with him, his hand still gently pressed against his cheek.

He had planned to stop when the music did, to replace the final pose with something more meaningful, more intimate. Something like their foreheads pressed together, hugging bodies close.

He didn’t think he would forget to stop. They continued to move through the center, past their stopping point, Heero too transfixed by Trowa’s gorgeous, relaxed face so close to his own with his eyes closed, a small smile playing the corner of his lips as he found amusement in this moment, feeling the French skater’s muscles relax against his body, exuding his blind trust in him.

Heero kissed him. He hadn't meant to, it just happened.

The damage was done — no regrets.

As the music ended and the lights went out Heero couldn’t stop his lips from taking Trowa’s. Months of frustration, of pent up emotion, drained out of him, manifesting, his urges uncontrollable. His hand slid from Trowa’s cheek to the back of his neck and he pulled him against himself, covering those soft, smiling lips with his.

When the lights came up they were still locked in an embrace, kissing. Heero felt Trowa’s mouth open with what he thought would be an interjection, to gasp in surprise or to tell him no. He hadn’t expected him to kiss him back.

The audience went nuts, and there was no way anyone was leaving that building with their hearing intact.

 

* * *

 

“Idiot. Idiot!”

Heero winced as the back of his head was thwapped by a rolled up paper program. Duo was scowling, seething. He knew he would piss their picky choreographer off by changing something, and he fully accepted the consequences which were coming in the form of death threats accented by the occasional smack to the head.

It had been worth it.

Heero lumbered forward on his skates in a daze. He could feel Trowa beside him, catching the occasional brush of his arm as they were ushered towards the interview box again to await the announcement of their score.

“What the hell _was_ that? Fuck. You’re going to lose ten points at least, that’s a whole move you left out. What were you thinking?” Duo was grumbling. Heero dropped down to a sit on the bench and crossed his arms over his chest. He felt numb, empty, as if everything that had been building up inside him was now gone. Months of practice, hours of hard work, and a heart full of longing were all gone, leaving his chest feeling like a cage without a bird.

There were no more flutters left within him, only the hallow ache that came with reality. It was over. It was all over...

Trowa sat down beside him and said nothing. Heero couldn’t bring himself to look at him, or anyone on their team. He knew the managers would be pissed, that the coaches would be just as disappointed as Duo was at him changing their program like that.

The judges announced the score. Heero couldn’t hear it over the screaming from the stands. He didn’t need to. He didn’t care.

He wanted to go home. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to answer the inevitable questions that were soon to be posed to him. Maybe if he got up now and tried to walk away…  
  
“You said before your performance that you weren’t a couple,” one of the reporters yelled over the din. “Was that kiss just part of the act?!”

“Yes!” Heero looked up and saw Duo standing in front of him, hands up, trying to swat the reporters and cameras away. “Yes! We added that last minute, that kiss. We know that the censors said it would be inappropriate to live broadcast a same-sex kiss but, well, if we’re here to represent the gay community it should be fully represented, in all of its realism, right? So yeah, we did that, and as you can see the audience approves,” Duo said quickly, gesturing to the wild fluttering of Pride flags behind the reporters.  
  
Duo was covering Heero’s ass as well as his own. The braided choreographer turned around and gave Heero a meaningful look. “It was all just an act, right?”

Heero frowned. That statement was the farthest thing from the truth, but he could never say what had really happened out there aloud. That he had changed the ending because it didn’t reflect how he felt, how he wanted things to _really_ end.

“Yeah,” he said plainly, his throat becoming tight with the lie. “Just an act.”


End file.
